Spartan Law
by ForgetMeNot8
Summary: When King Leonidas and the most skilled 300 soldiers from Sparta undertake a suicide mission to defend Greece against a Persian tyrant, he sends 3 soldiers home to convince the rest of Greece to fight; Stelios, Dilios and Astinos. This is their story.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: **After watching 300 I was devastated at the conclusion, but then my sister told me that it wasn't strictly historically accurate and that in Greek history a spartan warrior and two messengers were sent back to Sparta under orders from King Leonidas to convince the rest of Greece to defeat Xerses unanimously. Of course, I saw this as the perfect opportunity to allow two of my favourite characters, Stelios and Astinos, to escape the fate which befell them in the film. So I wrote this following story, loosely based on Greek history, about their journey with Dilios in completing the task with which they were trusted, and the troubles they encountered along the way._

_I hope it does one of my favourite films of all time justice._

_Please, please comment and let me know what you think - I hope you enjoy it. If you do then I will upload the rest of it._

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

The Great King listened with half an ear as the breath of those few that encompassed him drew their last. The malicious arrows of an outrageous betrayal had pierced flesh with little retaliation. And yet he had been as proud of his soldiers as a father might be at the birth of his first son. They had been resilient even in the face of hopeless annihilation. They had stood, as strong as the bosom of Greece herself, whilst pounded with stones of a foreign nature and had even succeeded in the extraction of some of these foreign blemishes from the pure foundations of their homeland; a foundation built on hope and determination…power was a quality which followed naturally.

But now he kneeled, against his own will, before a tyrant, as the fruitless moon arose early to stifle the blistering sun. He could not move. His muscular chest, once a symbol of national pride, heaved as his punctured lungs struggled to retain any oxygen. Droplets of sweat dangled tantalisingly on his forehead before dripping to the edge of his nose and falling to the stone bellow him. Here it mingled with the splattered blood of his friends, his brothers, as the deep red liquid basked in the sun.

He mustered the strength to tilt his chin towards the ever rising moon in the height of the skies. The grey stone of the formidable valley – known to Greeks as 'The Hot Gates' – towered above him on either side, bare of Demeter's vegetation, juxtaposed with the expanse of greenery which lay beyond the site (though this would later be destroyed by Persian movement as they tore their way through Greek lands). His vision was tarnished however, at the sight of Persian archers in tight ranks set across ridges in the rock, the sun glinting sharply off the pointed metal which the King knew would soon penetrate his already withered body. It was through sheer determination that he remained alive at present.

Never retreat. Never surrender. His father had taught him so much as a child; his country's most honoured code. It was with some nostalgia that he cast his mind back over his boyhood, but he was redeemed with pride – he had done the right thing. That most beloved King had amplified the meaning of each lesson in the sacred laws of his country. Yet he did not feel triumph now. Nor did he feel regret. He felt sorrow. It was a fleeting emotion unknown to him before, in all his learned strength. It grew like a large fish creeping slowly through the black waters of Greece until it consumed him. Grief for his men and the lives lost, all willingly sacrificed at his command without a moment's hesitation. Though the greatest sorrow was that he would not be present to fight in the final battle; for there would be one. A satirical smile flickered across his lips as he imagined the scale of suffering the Persians would endure if the pain of a mere 300 of his men had proved so much of a challenge.

The Persian King rose from his gold-encrusted throne, decorated with numerous jewels and precious metals. His black eyes narrowed as he observed his rival and his blood ran cold as he realised his first inclination to be true. The King had indeed been smiling through his brown beard, slightly dishevelled since his time at war. Could the King have one final hoax up his sleeve? This trickster? This daemon? He recalled the paltry occasions in which the King had succeeded in deceiving him. He shuddered before regaining composure, adjusting the gold which hung from his neck. He was a God for heaven's sake – this mere mortal was no match for his divine powers. He had tired of his games! With satisfaction he observed the bloodied flesh of the enemy's army from his vantage point…he would slaughter them all. A formidable fighting force, it was true, but all fell to bow before the God-King eventually. He spoke his final words to the King carefully;

'It was possible for you, by not fighting against God but by ranging yourself on my side, to have been the sole ruler of Greece.'

The Honest King gathered the remaining energy in his body, drawing as deep a breath as he could muster before he answered;

'If you had any knowledge of the noble things of life, you would refrain from coveting others' possessions; but for me to die for Greece is better than to be the sole ruler over the people of my race."

With a hiss the Persian gave the command for the archer's to fire, but he never removed his eyes from the rival King. He would watch the life sucked from him and he would enjoy it.

Much to Xerses' disappointment no flicker of pain or fear crossed the good King's face; such weakness had been trained out of him by the age of ten. Instead he drew up to his full height and flung his powerful arms wide so the Persians had his full bodily capacity to aim at. He saw the dark objects blot the sun as they soared towards him, heard the sharp twang as the string snapped on bows and closed his eyes.

He lay in the heat of last summer amongst the maize which lay in abundance just beyond the city walls. The light breeze cooled him as he lay next to his wife, caressing her perfect figure with rough hands. Gently he removed a loose strand of dark hair from her freckled cheek and she smiled. His heart leapt as she held his hand between hers and touched it to her lips as her eyes opened. She observed her husband with such a tender love that he was sure he had never felt happier. She suddenly started as hair began to brush her leg and their six year old son appeared from his hiding place amongst the golden corn, squealing with delight as his father tackled him to the ground. He lay still between his parents for some time, contented in the security of his father's big arms and comforted by the unmistakable scent of lavender which he associated with his mother. He nestled in her long curls while throwing his arms around his father's neck. The King opened one eye a fraction and his heart burst with renewed compassion for the child in his arms. He lay with his whole existence cradled in his hands and he was perfectly happy, the memory netted in gold forever.

With one final roar, still alive in his memories, King Leonidas fell amongst his 300 Spartan brothers; never to rise again and yet to live on…

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><p>The 3 warriors swivelled in their saddles as the roar of Hercules himself echoed around the lands, disturbing birds from their solitary perches as they squawked in the blue skies. The 3 men caught each other's eyes and all had been communicated between them. As they had reached a river, the water as still as the pebbles beneath the surface, they took a momentary pause in their journey. Their King was dead.<p>

Astinos led his stolen Persian horse to the water and it gratefully drank the pure liquid. Had he been a weaker man, an Athenian perhaps, he would have cried. Oh! - how he would have cried, screamed, cursed the Gods for the loss of his father. As it was, he was a Spartan. All he felt was a blackened soul, filled with hatred for the Persian bastards who had murdered his own flesh and blood, his heart yearning for revenge. He had stood by his father for the past months defending his country and they had fought gallantly. It would not be in vain – he would not allow it!

_'Do not fear, father, you will be avenged. I swear to Ares I will have the blood of Xerses!'_

Stelios flicked his red cape bitterly behind him as he sank onto the large rocks on the riverside. He had tried to argue with Leonidas but once the King had his mind set on his idea it was near impossible to alter it, especially at such a crucial time. How he resented it! He hated his life – that he was here whilst his brothers lay mercy to the crows. He had fought bravely, beyond his own ability and with no regard for personal safety; only that of the man to his left. For the majority of the war this had been Astinos. He glanced briefly at his friend who although had his water bottle open and in the stream, was making no attempt to fill it. He should have been there! He should have died where he'd fought – he should have been awarded the beautiful death. How he envied those who had stayed, whose souls were now offered to Hades. To die for his country; there was no greater honour and he had, by some cruel twist of fate, been denied this.

_'To be one of three to walk like cowards from a raging battle – what shame has befallen me! What pain I should have endured with my brothers!'_

Dilios had only dismounted form his horse moments before and squeezed Astinos' shoulder affectionately before residing into the shade, leaning against a tree trunk sheltered beneath the fresh leaves. He couldn't begin to comprehend the resentment the boy must be feeling at the loss of his father, and at a comparatively young age too. Suddenly his King's face appeared before him, as clear as when he had left him on his final orders. He heard his voice unwavering and true as it carried its final command;

"You must go – with Stelios and Astinos. You have fought well but you have a gift of no other Spartan; you must recite what has happened here. The whole of Greece must know our story and the whole of Greece must unite against a common enemy. Remember us. Remember why we died. As our story lives on, as do we…as does our cause."

"Sire," he had stammered amongst pointless protests, "is there any message I should take…I should take to err…"

"to the Queen." The almighty man had finished for him. He reached around his neck and removed the charm which had resided there – a token of the concealed weakness, the unspoken love, "Nothing needs to be said,"

The apparition had disappeared prematurely before his eyes and Dilios checked himself. To his dismay he discovered his thin golden beard wet with tears. The eldest of the three and therefore the example to follow, he hastily wiped them away and ensured the ignorance of the others. Astinos crouched unmoving by the water. Stelios, his knuckles losing their colour as his hand was clenched tightly into a fist, was lost too deep in his own thoughts.

_'Great Leonidas, my brother, my friend, my King; your bidding shall be done.'_

He cast his gaze towards the skies and saw that the unforgiving moon had drawn parallel to the raging sun.

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><p>All was silent. The moon had finally presided over the withering sun, casting infinite shadows over the three Spartans as they slept. They had ensured they were free from the eagle eye of Persian scouts which they knew patrolled the land. In the security of a rare cave-like chasm in the earth, they had chosen to rest. They did not light a fire for the possibility of being found.<p>

Still no man had spoken.

Stelios had perched on a thick branch; his knife was removed from his belt and he had proceeded to twist it maliciously in his hands, his mind still deep in battle. Astinos had rested his head on the ground, his eyes staring blankly up at the carpet of stars and he saw nothing – merely vengeful plans mapped out in his head. Dilios had crouched close to the ground, twirling rocks absentmindedly in his fingers. He heard the roars of warfare echoing in his head, the painful deaths of his brothers and the pitiful squeaks of slaughtered Persians. His King appeared again before him as he made to rest his eyes and Dilios' last thought before he drifted into uncharted oblivion was the necessity of a proper burial for each of his brothers.

So the three travellers, shocked by their own exhaustion, slept undisturbed. Dilios had his hand wrapped tightly around a scroll which was fastened to his person. Had they been more vigilant, they might have noticed the four hooded figures as they had followed them from the river. Had they been better rested, they may have woken from their slumbers as the figures approached, faces masked and black cloaks billowing out behind them. Silently and with great care, they surrounded the body of Dilios, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

In his dream Dilios had been the betrayer of Leonidas, leading the Persians round the old goat path, thus outflanking the Spartans. His subconscious screamed at the figure which resembled himself to stop, but he had no control. He saw the face of the Great Leonidas as he addressed him, his expression harbouring only a deep disappointment;

"Friend," he uttered, "may you live forever,"

One faceless figure reached down, producing an identical scroll from inside his robes. Dilios' twitching hand was removed and the scroll unclasped. Without a sound the replica was folded into place and the creature stood triumphantly. With a sharp hiss of satisfaction, they vanished into the night.

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><p><em>The Last Testimony and Requests of King Leonidas of Sparta…<em>

_It is not with regret, noble gentlemen of the council, that I have to write these words, nor am I regretful of the events which shall befall us today. I write instead with hope – hope that the brave warriors of Sparta complete their duty; that my assassination provokes a revenge mission._

_I must first, however, justify my actions in standing against the Persian tyrant, Xerses. This man is no God, but a power-hungry mortal who will only cease his conquering when all of Greece has fallen. I, good sirs, cannot and could not have lived to watch Sparta, our beloved country, burn in the knowledge that such an abomination was allowed by us without resistance. If the Ephors had been obeyed this would undoubtedly have been the consequence._

_So we fight and we shall die, but we have taken with us many Persians. And with our deaths, we pray to the Gods, may all of Greece rise together to defend herself from a terrible fate. May Spartan armies lead the full-scale stack from which no Persian survives. May each of us die with courageous hearts and great honour as my 300 have done._

_On this note, I believe it befitting to request a hero's burial for each of my men as we lie at the entrance to The Hot Gates. Each man fought more gallantly than the Gods themselves and no honour awarded to them could convey the warriors they are._

_I ordered Stelios, Astinos and Dilios to deliver this note and inform all of Greece of our endeavours. These three comrades fought the most gallantly of all and should be treated thus. I wish Dilios to lead the army to battle, as he has proved himself most valuable both as a tactical warrior and loyal friend. Astinos is to marry the most beautiful woman in all of Sparta, whomever he may choose. Stelios is to train new warriors, as his fearless talent saved many Spartan lives and killed countless Persians._

_My son is not yet of age, but once he had passed Agoge he shall assume the throne. Until this time, I wish my brother Cleomenes – the 2nd King of Sparta – to take over temporary leadership of the country. I leave the task of appointing a temporary 2nd King to your noble selves._

_My final request is simple and yet perhaps the most significant of all; remember us and remember what we died for. Continue our cause and fight till the death. For if we do this, we shall win a great victory._

_Leonidas I, King of Sparta_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**_ I understand that there are elements of this chapter which some people may not be happy with, but I am trying to keep in line with Greek history and I apologise if some people get upset with the death which occurs; it bears no reflection on how much I like the character, as all three of the characters in this chapter I adored in the film. It broke my heart to have to kill one of them here. Nevertheless, I hope you appreciate my writing and the reasoning behind his death - RIP._

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

The landscape stretched before the three silent travellers, unblemished and unyielding. The dipped valley contained sturdy buildings of pale yellow and virgin white embellished by the vast forestation surrounding the walled town. As the sun reached its height in the sky, marking four days of incessant journeying, the corn fields were illuminated and an incandescent perfection seemed to highlight their home; with new ammunition the men journeyed towards the sparkling city.

A Spartan woman, wrapped in a pale blue cloth held up with rope, dangled her bucket into the depths of the stone well in the confines of the welcoming courtyard of her city. Her chestnut hair concealed her delicate rosy cheeks as she worked hard to heave the liquid back up. She grinned, triumphant, as she perched the filled bucket on the edge of the stone. She turned to gaze out across unexplored lands, as was her wont, and movement across the plains startled her so that she slipped and the bucket clattered to the floor. The liquid inside it spewed out and stained the cobbles black. However the girl did not notice this, as she was already sprinting through the city to inform Her Majesty of the three figures on horseback charging towards the gate, wearing the undeniable red of Spartan soldiers billowing out behind them.

Queen Gorgo had been contemplating the harsh divide between life and death in her chambers, her hands philosophically clasped in front of her when the disturbance reached her generous ears. She had long prepared for this moment and yet her feelings were still in disarray. Leonidas had known the fate which would have befallen him and had chosen to leave, with her blessing. She knew why these soldiers had returned. The emotion which first rose to her breast she supposed was pride; her loving husband had fought for liberty and freedom, dying in an act of defiance against reluctant priests and politicians. Then she staggered slightly as she entered the royal courtyard, leaning against the pillars engraved with symbols of the Gods, searching for strength. The men before her were weary in appearance, their stubble and beards slightly overgrown, various grazes and hard blood encrusted on once handsome faces. She recognised each of them.

"My Lady," they bowed low, wincing slightly as they did so.

Swallowing hard to keep the lump rising in her throat at bay, she inspected the men individually. She was relieved that Astinos, of only 17, had been instructed home – at such a young age he deserved to at least know the pleasure of a woman before he became acquainted with the boatman. Stelios, once the object of most Spartan women's attention, had faded in his beauty; the glint gone from his deep blue eyes had been replaced with many troubles. Dilios was the final Spartan. At her command he stood before his Queen, eventually meeting her pitying gaze.

"Dearest Dilios, you have long been a good friend to Leonidas and our family – what news do you bring?"

The question did not need answering but she hoped that the response would somehow alter, as if the history books could be re-written. Dilios recognised this as he opened his mouth to speak;

"My Lady," he bowed once again, ignorant of the gathering crowd outside for he was too absorbed in the words which followed, "our Great King Leonidas is dead" – he paused to ensure utter composure as the words sank into the Queen's soul and she drew her shoulders back and continued to absorb his speech (as Leonidas himself would have done) – "We were sent by our King to deliver his final instructions and spread the story of our brave brothers throughout Greece so that they might be avenged." He then reached to his belt and withdrew the charm that lay there, handing it gently to the Queen who immediately clasped it next to her beating heart.

"Thank you, sweet Dilios," she uttered, barely audible amongst the nervous chatter outside the palace entrance.

"The scroll," an ageing politician broke the silent communication between Queen and Spartan as all turned to look at him, "The scroll of Leonidas, if you please." He reached out a wrinkled hand while the other was engaged in persistent stroking of his wispy white beard.

Dilios reached into his cloak and detached a scroll sealed with the Spartan gold clasp. He presented it to the hierarchy and stepped back in line with his companions. The nobles clustered around the elder who unlocked the parchment and stooped to unravel the words within. A unanimous gasp erupted from the group as the nobles dressed in tainted white togas began to rise up in panic. They muttered hushed words to each other and Stelios, Astinos and Dilios exchanged anxious glances. The old politician glanced upwards and held Dilios' innocent eyes. His voice pierced the air as he cried out in anguish; one word, one word to haunt each man for the rest of his life.

"Cowards! Cowards!"

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><p>The Queen stared more deeply into my soul than I would have thought possible. Her undeniably beautiful face creased as her brows knotted together. She was weighing the truth of the accusation; I could see it in her hazel eyes. Precariously she had snatched the blank parchment from the council members and found the results as conclusive evidence. I knew what was coming and did not understand – I had seen Leonidas write the scroll, seal it and hand it to me, knowing the words that had been written on there myself. I shuddered as it was thrust in my face. But it was the words of the Queen which followed that truly carved up my soul.<p>

"How could you?" there was no malice or anger but pure devastation in her voice, "My husband, your friend, your King – he sacrificed his life, as did your brave brothers, for the liberty and benefit of your country and you pay him the highest dishonour in deserting him?"

Her final words to me echoed in my mind long after she spoke them. Dishonour. Desertion. These terms unjustly bestowed on me provide my mouth with a taste more sour than the grapes the less experienced helots (slaves) collect out of season. And yet are they truly unjust?

I see the way I am looked at, glowered at across the street. To them I am filth; filth to the community. No longer do I stand a Spartan, for I am only a true Spartan warrior if my people believe it to be so. I am filth. Not even my wife, my darling Isabella, can endure the sight of me. Away from her cherished company for months and never did I anticipate treatment with such hostility – she would prefer me lying on my shield in the entrance of the Hot Gates. This fate I would gladly, willingly have shared with my old friends. I would sacrifice my life to belong to Sparta once again.

My son, my darling boy ventured up to me today. He glanced up at me with those wide blue eyes inherited from his mother and, through my tarnished features, recognised me. He smiled. He smiled that wonderful mischievous grin that had once spelt out the meaning of my life – the best moments he and I could ever share together on this earth. Today he could not engage in such a precious moment for he was called away. His mother's scolding voice chimed across the courtyard, nearly knocking me back of my perch and into the fountain. I had proposed to her by this same fountain. Now I watched as she grasped my child's wrist and muttered bitter lies into his ears, eventually marching away. She did not need to drag him. He went willingly.

I have no wife. I have no child. I am no Spartan. I deserve to die – it would be more fortuitous if I were dead. Nature must be balanced and the God's must collect the debt due. I could not talk to Stelios – he spends his isolated days inside and out of sight of the taunts of 'coward' and spitting predators – nor Astinos – he has not spoken a word since his dismissal from the 300. I have never felt so alone. A blemish on an otherwise pure white surface of Sparta and what it stands for, I intrude. The single betrayer, I stand, lost to my country and to my Spartan self.

But the God's must collect their debt. I must re-join my brothers and noble King where I shall no longer burn alone. I must leave…I have been summoned.

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><p>The murmurs intensified from the large group of spectators as Astinos emerged to discover the source of the commotion. He heard several shouts of 'coward' and 'traitor' but – for the true Spartan – they hit only the stone which imprisoned his heart. His steel mind was too focused and accustomed to such treatment to notice. Someone spat in his eye. He didn't observe who was responsible but felt the warm liquid splatter across his fragile skin. He paused, without speech or expression, and wiped the dampness away before continuing.<p>

The announcement had come from the glistening white palace, central to Sparta, one week ago and since then the Spartans, it seemed, had delighted in tormenting the slighted warriors. Astinos, however, had not risen to such insult, feeling nothing but hate and the promise of revenge. Thus a perverse satisfaction came to him as the crowds parted to let him through – even as though it were because he was diseased. However for all his strength of façade, the sight which consumed his vision broke him. He spoke for the first time;

"Stelios!" he bellowed, knowing his friend to be collecting water – he had taken advantage of the disturbance, using it to purchase necessities whilst avoiding the reproachful eye of Spartan citizens. "STELIOS!"

The man eventually mustered the strength to emerge from the allies of the city and enter the central courtyard. His stubble was still prominent in the exposure of sunlight, his crystal blue eyes darting expectantly from side to side. Children's eyes were covered, some women had even turned away and all others were gaping at the fine oak tree, its roots as deep as the city itself. Receiving identical treatment to Astinos, he resumed his position at his friend's side. He too was stunned.

"May the Gods have mercy," he managed to utter before retreating back into silent trepidation.

From the strongest branch of that ancient tree Dilios lay tangled in rope. His face was white, his eyes blotched with tears and his lifeless body swinging elegantly in accordance with the gentle summer's breeze.

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><p>While a handful of unconvinced Spartans mourned Dilios' death, his wife, son and the Queen included, Stelios and Astinos remained unseen by civilian life. They acted only at night. Since his mother, and marginally more reluctant brother and sisters, also rejected Astinos, he had been granted permission to reside with Stelios who lived alone. The women who used to call on him stayed well away. When they passed by his once lively house they bowed their heads in shame and scurried onwards. Stelios did not miss them.<p>

By day they continued, or attempted to continue, with the normality of their lives. Behind the high-reaching walls of Stelios' paved garden, vines crawling upwards towards the world beyond, they refined their fighting skills.

"Come on, is that the best you can do?" Stelios teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

They hopped sardonically from foot to foot, circling each other like vultures surrounding a common prey. Their sharpened swords glinted eagerly in the light as they were held before them.

"If you saw my best, you would be skewered where you stand," Astinos grinned, free of contempt for the first time since his return to Sparta.

Stelios was encouraged by the ability to make his friend laugh and therefore continued in his mocking tone. They were fighting again. Their occupation, their profession, their dreams; this was where they belonged.

"You fight like a woman! Perhaps you have somewhat lost your touch fighting a notoriously outstanding opponent," he stood in a pseudo statuesque pose.

"It is a shame you are so deluded to believe you could keep up with me!" Astinos teased, jabbing playfully with his sword as Stelios dodged the blade.

"Perhaps, my friend, I am so swift that you do not see me,"

"Deluded."

"Jealousy does not become you, my friend," Stelios grinned mischievously as their combat concluded for the day.

Sweat making their bodies glisten, adding to that naturally healthy glow one acquires from a day in the sun, Stelios sheathed his uniquely Spartan weapon and swung his arm round Astinos' neck, pulling him towards him as an act of companionship. Though Astinos would never admit it, he was hugely grateful for the empathy and returned the favour.

"It is nearly nightfall," he observed the golden-rose streaks colouring the fading light of the sky.

"Yes."

"What have we left to do?"

For the few nights following the suicide of Dilios, Stelios and Astinos had been preparing to leave Sparta. The loss of their friend had provoked a harsh reality inside the two remaining warriors. They had realised that no matter what they achieved, they would not be forgiven by their people. However their King, Leonidas, had fought and died for a cause of utmost legitimacy and importance – they had a duty to Sparta, their dead comrades, Dilios and their most honoured King to complete his mission. Even if it meant losing favour of Sparta for an eternity. The path had been paved by 300 and they must dutifully walk it. They would leave Sparta for Athens, throughout the journey locating and destroying as many Persian scouts as possible. When in Athens they would somehow convince the naïve boy-lovers and amateur warriors to fight alongside Sparta in the final battle; numbers would certainly help convince the Spartans to battle.

Thus far they had acquired as much food as possible to last them a journey of several days, which had proved a challenge as many stalls at the market had refused to sell to them and instead had granted them a spit on the ground below their feet…it seemed the supply of such a gift was plentiful amongst the citizens – if necessary they would cook wild animals on the journey. Stelios had also managed to bribe one of the helots upon his return; from this gentle man they had received many crops and two horses which he had agreed to house until the time arrived when they would be required.

"What have we left to do?" Astinos asked.

"I sent a note to our little helot last night and the horses shall be ready tomorrow. Tonight we shall fill our water bottles in the lake. We only need the bare minimum."

"Good," Astinos agreed, satisfied. It appeared that he would begin to reap his revenge on the Persians sooner than he had hoped. His father would be proud.

"You have all your armour here, don't you?" Stelios checked swiftly, hoping to brush into the subject of wishing his family farewell.

"Of course." He replied curtly – he had guessed Stelios' strategy, so when Stelios opened his mouth to speak once more he was silenced – "Stelios, I have no need to speak of my family."

"Astinos, I merely consider your own interests and those of your siblings and parents. If you abandon them without so much of a word you could not rest easy and I doubt they would be able to either!" his voice was calm and unwavering as he sat on the stone chair by the fireplace.

"I appreciate your concern, my friend, but you meddle in matters which do not concern you. My family lost the right to call themselves relatives when they rejected me in a time of mourning. All that now matters is that my father, Dilios and Leonidas are avenged."

Stelios saw it fit to relent, admiring the strength behind his friend and instead fed off his determination.

"And so they shall be".

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><p><em><strong>AN: So there you have it. As I said at the beginning, I am really sorry for the death of Dilios, but it seemed to me that it had to happen in order to inspire Stelios and Astinos into further action in the story; he was one of the greatest Spartan**_** warriors.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: **Here is another chapter - I hope you enjoy it. I better quickly say as a disclaimer that I don't own the characters from '300', but I hope my portrayal of them does them justice._

_Please feel free to review as I would love to know what you think of it :)_

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

The city of Sparta lined the streets as a symbol of national mourning and camaraderie. The only movement consisted of the occasional flick of a woman's hair and the leaves which danced down the centre of the stone streets in the sorrowful breeze. A graceful tune gifted the ears of each beholder as the city gates opened with a slight creek.

Clothed in white robes four helots, who had been most carefully selected, were positioned at each corner of a gold plaque laid above their heads. They were accompanied by a small band of soldiers in the traditional Spartan army colours. Those who ventured onto balconies dropped flower petals of blood red roses onto the sleeping figure. As they drifted, they caught the wind and appeared to all as confetti sparkling in the sunshine.

Leonidas was as magnificent in death as he had been in life. His once healthy bronze skin was now as pale as a virgin's, but retained its angelic glow as it was encompassed by daylight. His beard had been neatly trimmed and restored to its full charismatic quality. His strong jaw was still visible and untarnished; the characteristics every Spartan man aspired to were all still present. He was adorned in fresh armour so he was laid to rest in death as he had been in life; a true warrior of Sparta. His feathered helmet lay freshly polished by his head and his sword, apparently discovered still clenched in his hand, lay the length of his lower body, firmly gripped by his pale hands at the handle. Though the sacred body had been washed with the purest water in Sparta the arrow wounds were still visible, leaving puncture marks in his chest and down his arms.

The Queen emerged from the palace, her maroon robes sweeping the rose petals which lay scattered in the dirt. The procession halted. Slowly she walked around the soldiers and approached the bed of her husband, collecting her emotions and locking them away. The sight of her most beloved soul mate, the one person who had shared all her dreams, shook her to her inner core and tears streamed inwardly. As if on cue her son, who had been observing the scenes from a shadowed terrace, ran forth and embraced her, tightly wrapping his arms around her hips and concealing his face in the folds of her gown. She knelt down and removed the clasping arms of her son from her. She tilted his face upwards so that she might gaze deeply into his eyes. He had his father's eyes. She was comforted.

She reached into her pocket and retrieved the wolf's tooth Dilios had returned to her – she placed the token affectionately around her son's neck. The procession continued their steady march, Queen Gorgo leading from the front hand in hand with the future King. Her husband would rest safely in Sparta's tomb of the Kings amongst his predecessors.

Stelios bowed his head respectfully as his precious Lord passed by him, unseen in the back alley outside his home. He was hugely grateful the helots and soldiers had succeeded in collecting the resting man and returning him home; had Xerses had his way the corpse may well have been decapitated and devastated beyond recognition. However his residing emotion was bitterness. How was it a King hell-bent on equality and self-sacrifice for his men had been retrieved while his men were left behind? Those 300 brave souls surely deserved peace equally? His friends and brothers wondering the earth, trapped in everlasting unrest, was too discomforting a thought for him to endure. It seemed he and Astinos would also require 296 silver coins and two shovels before they left tonight. It would have been one of the final wills of King Leonidas, he was sure of it. Now, he could finally rest in peace.

* * *

><p>The wind whistled petulantly through the streets as Stelios and Astinos crept beneath verandas, flowers in full bloom. Stelios paused, his hand raised as Astinos froze eagerly, his breathing shallow in Stelios' right ear. Silence. They had rehearsed the route they would take on countless occasions, so much so that communication between the men was unnecessary. Stelios whirled between houses, his red cape flourishing behind him and Astinos right on his heel. They encountered no one on their journey to the city gates, with the exception of two guards on either side of the gates which had been anticipated; a swift blow to the back of the head ensured their unconsciousness for hours. As agreed, the helot met them when the moon was full in the starlit sky, proudly tugging two horses behind him. He had heard of the legendary fighting skills of Stelios and was honoured to have been called to his aid at such a desperate time; his son had admired him and so he was convinced of his innocence. Still he had taken precautionary measures to ensure he could have no implication in their escape from the city, wrapping his head in cloth and carrying his father's dagger closely by his right side should anyone question him.<p>

"Here you are, Sir," he hissed in the silence that enveloped the great city.

"I am indebted to you, noble Spartan. When I return and the accusations with which I am charged have been lifted, I shall see to it that you are properly rewarded. But for now, this shall just have to suffice,"

He opened one of the cloth bags he had just attached to the saddle and removed two silver coins, still embellished with the crowned head of King Leonidas. They sparkled as they caught the light of the moon and for a moment Stelios thought he saw the portrait of the great King smile, but as he twisted one coin back and forth he realised that he had been tricked by his own hopes. He thrust it firmly towards the helot, who shook his head warmly.

"How could I accept such a gift from a great defender of our city such as yourself? No, Sir, I shall not take it, instead your gratitude can be shown in a promise; don't give up. Don't fail."

"Fear not, I shall bring the Athenian army to Sparta and together we shall fight Xerses, if it is the last thing I do!" Stelios shook the man's hand and mounted his horse.

Astinos was already waiting by the gate, feeling more comfortable in his armour; his leather briefs, red cape fastened round his shoulders with a golden clasp which matched the Spartan shield by his side and his best sandals. He looked almost his old self again, Stelios thought as he trotted slowly to his side. They cast a withered eye back over the city which had come to mean so much to them, enrapturing them with many memories of contented childhood and adolescence; what made all the glories of surviving warfare worthwhile. Stelios' eyes lingered upon the tree from which Dilios' body had been cut down just days ago;

'_This is for you, noble friend,'_ he thought to himself, _'May you rest peacefully among the Gods.'_

Astinos concentrated on his family's house, the candlelight still flickering in the upstairs window where he knew his mother would be sat, as was habitual, repairing her sons' clothes and praying to the Gods for his father. It was with a heavy heart that he tore his gaze forwards again, but he knew that he was doing the right thing. Not only was he becoming the man his father always wanted him to be, but he was fulfilling the wishes of his King. The warriors didn't need to speak; they knew that it was the right time for them to leave. Synchronously they tugged on the reins and the horses began to move at a steady speed away through the corn.

They were on the brink of increasing their speed when a voice pierced the silence behind them;

"And so they steal away like thieves in the night, without so much as a word or explanation."

They didn't need to turn in confusion for they recognised with painful clarity the soft tone of their Queen. Stelios halted his horse and walked back beneath the arms of the shady oak which marked the city border. The Queen emerged from behind its thick trunk, still wearing a dress, shaded a deep rouge, which emphasised her perfectly curved figure. Her ebony hair plaited and drooping over her left shoulder revealed the nape of her neck, which Stelios observed as rather alluring in the moonlight.

"Your Majesty," he stooped, meaning to bow, but was interrupted;

"Forget the formalities," the Queen paused, alarmed at her brusque tone, and corrected herself before she continued more gently, "I have no time for them."

Stelios watched wearily as she made her way steadily towards him, her troubled eyes bore deep into his.

"I need you to speak with me honestly; in the presence of the Gods." she spoke finally, casting a glance upwards – though it was common knowledge that Leonidas and his Queen were the monarchs in Greece who respected the Gods the least - "Did you abandon my husband and your brothers to their fate?"

"No." The reply was simple enough and it left Stelios' lips easily, for it was the simple truth.

Astinos slid calmly off his horse and walked over to where they were standing, preparing to persuade the Queen of their innocence. But it appeared that such persuasion was unnecessary;

"I believe you," she spoke swiftly and quietly, a cursory note upon the air, but they were the most uplifting words the men had heard since their King's war cries. "I apologise if you believe me to have acted or spoken unjustly, but you must understand that I too am under pressure from the Elders. Now Leonidas has…gone, there is little to protect me; besides Alexon I feel I am quite alone in the Council. I had to do what they perceived to be right, even though I knew in my heart that it was wrong." The Queen implored the Spartans before her, commanding them with pleading eyes.

"There is nothing to forgive, your Majesty. We understand your reasoning," Astinos spoke reassuringly.

"I thank you for that understanding. I only wish I had spoken with you sooner then perhaps brave Dilios may not have lost hope. I assure you that I will do all in my power to secure him a proper burial and one that is fitting for the loyal warrior that he was."

"Thank you, your Majesty, I am sure his family as well as ourselves will appreciate such a generous thought."

"I caution you, however, that I may not succeed until your return as I am watched closely by Theron who will report any possible wrongdoings on my part to the council members." – they bowed their heads respectfully in comprehension of these words so the Queen continued on a different subject – "The only question that therefore remains is why the scroll was blank when you handed it to the Elders."

"We have spoken of this, my Queen, but can find no explanation for it. Dilios was certain when King Leonidas handed him the scroll that words had been written on it and he kept it on his person from that moment forward. I don't understand what could have happened…" he trailed off, thinking hard.

"Unless of course the scrolls were exchanged," the Queen spoke, "that is, after all, the only logical solution I can offer and I know several people who still begrudge the idea of Sparta going to war."

"The only problem is that all these men hold positions of authority within the council," Astinos acknowledged, shaking his head resentfully.

"I shall see what I can discover in your absence. Where will you go?" the Queen spoke decidedly, but she could not disguise the concern mingled with the determination present in her voice.

"To Arcadia," Stelios gestured vaguely at the horizon, "hopefully gaining support from Daxos before going on to Athens. We figured if we can convince Greece to go to war then Sparta will have no choice but to follow."

The Queen nodded in approval, gazing at each of her soldiers individually before speaking;

"Well, may you go with my blessing and ride as true warriors of Sparta. Your King would be proud."

With that they mounted their horses once more and galloped towards dawn, their hope restored and the significance of their cause re-established in their minds.

* * *

><p>Perched high in the rocky mountains beyond Sparta's city walls, the Ephors gathered hungrily around a large chest which contained their promised riches. Their ghastly forms writhed with pleasure at the prospect of basking in an eternal stream of wealth and women, for they had been promised both by the Persian King.<p>

"There – as agreed. Now where is it?" a tall man of muscular build hovered over the creatures, simultaneously repulsed and fascinated by them.

"Here," one of them thrust the parchment towards him, his bulbous hand extending from the refines of his black cloak.

Harbouring a disgusted expression, he snatched the parchment, ensuring that his skin did not come into contact with the creatures' as he did so. He began to unravel it, the title swiftly becoming legible; so they had succeeded in stealing the written will of the deceased Leonidas. He laughed gruffly,

"Congratulations, my friends, enjoy your reward." As he spoke he gave a flurrying motion with his hand and a young girl, no younger than 16, was led trembling into the chasm in the rocks by a Greek in dusty white robes.

Despite her fear, it was transparent that she was stunningly beautiful. Her golden hair contrasted with the bronze of her skin and her dress emphasised the elegance of her figure. Her chest rose and fell heavily with each breath as she resisted her captor.

"Forgive me," Theron spoke to the Ephors, who were already salivating at the sight of such a prize, "she is the most beautiful Sparta has to offer for the moment, but she is feisty." He threw her to the ground at their feet and she observed the lepers in terror through her golden locks.

"Such spirit is easily broken," they hissed, advancing towards her while she cried out in protest, but it was to no avail.

The Persian General led Theron to the path outside the cave where, from their vantage point, they could observe the whole of Sparta.

"That city may soon be yours-"

"I already own the council; the entire chamber is under my command!" Theron smirked arrogantly.

"Yes, but soon it will be official. King Xerses will give you all that you desire and more, so long as you ensure that none of the wishes expressed in this will come to pass." He handed his Spartan ally the paper and watched him conceal it in the folds of his robe.

"Consider it done." He said confidently, "Oh and there is something else you should know; tonight the two remaining warriors who returned fled the city. After the hostility they've received I doubt they shall ever return, but even so precautions must be taken…"

The Persian General nodded in agreement;

"I shall ensure the scouts which litter these lands are extra vigilant over the coming days and shall inform you when they come to a bitter end."

They exchanged knowing grins before Theron left to return to Sparta, with visions of Kingship dizzying his mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The wilderness that stretched before the Spartan warriors melted sweetly into the horizon as they rode through the birth of the dawn. Fluffy clouds meandered lightly across the sky, the Gods gathering in the high heavens to observe the courageous men tackling their journey in its infancy. The golden corn parted before them, revealing a muddied track which appeared to them as through from some distant dream, a way of life somehow lost to them. As they rode however, their bodies glistening with the heat of the morning, vivid memories returned irrepressibly to them.

Stelios cast his mind back to the honour of marching with the finest of Spartan's warriors. It was a path he had fantasised about since childhood and his chest swelled with pride to be shouldered amongst his comrades, a battle cry raging on his tongue. His right arm, which firmly gripped his spear, shook slightly in anticipation of the battle to come; he mentally rehearsed every lesson his father had taught him as a young boy introduced to superior warfare. The melody from the pipes leading the contingent drifted through the group and each man was inspired, their footsteps quickening across the rocks. He knew that he was ready. The clouds gathered overhead as they neared Thermopylae, storms swirling threateningly over the rampant sea. Years of training and the inconceivably exhausting years in Agoge, were all for this defining moment. His blood was bubbling beneath bronzed skin; he thirsted for the clash of spear and shield, the satisfactory thrust of his spear which would destroy the Persian monsters. He was to kill many.

Astinos relived the march in the footsteps of his father. Concealed in his shadow he stood tall, thrusting his shoulders back and took powerful strides to match those of the Spartan Captain. He had long respected the tactical skill with which his father fought, surviving many battles and celebrating victory in each of his endeavours. He was to become like him; this war was not only a matter of defending Sparta's liberty, but it was to prove himself as the warrior that he was sure he could be. He had expressed potential during early years, particularly in Agoge where he was honoured for withstanding the lashing, which they customarily received, for the longest. This was the only time his father had ever expressed any interpretable satisfaction with his son. Astinos was determined that this war would alter his father's perception of him for the remainder of the time he had left in the mortal world. He would look at him with new-found admiration, just as Astinos had always placed him on a pedestal. How he had longed to be smiled at with radiant admiration and now he had the opportunity of making such desires come true. He was to receive such a smile.

Suddenly the horse reared wildly from beneath Astinos' body. The movement jolted him back to reality and induced a wild frenzy in Stelios' own beast. They thrashed violently against the strength of the Spartans who, despite greater powers of resilience and determination, were unable to control them. They were forced to get down before they were thrown off. They cautiously stepped in front of the horses, gently cooing and softly stroking their noses to calm them down. Astinos' horse snorted defiantly as he was soothed and he turned. He could see what had upset the creatures so, but he stood unsurprised at the sight which met him. He had seen it before. Now he knew exactly where to look and precisely what had happened here nearly a month ago. The once full carcass of a horse had been consumed by maggots, leaving a bloodied skeleton hollow and empty. The corpses of once contented villagers were still nailed to the blackened tree, which stood a shadow in front of the few streaky rays of sunlight able to penetrate the cloud of soot, which hung like the lid of a coffin over the merciless place. Stelios joined his side, careful not to step on the smouldered rubble which littered the ground.

"We should keep moving." He said eventually, tearing his eyes and head from the place and leading his horse east towards Arcadia.

Astinos said nothing and instead, at the gentle nudge of his horse, who was eager to remain with his mate, turned and followed the tracks of Stelios.

They had only gone a short way when voices reached their ears.

"Get down!" Stelios hissed, throwing his body on the ground.

* * *

><p>Theron sat alone in the council chamber, studying the document carefully. The requests that had been issued were typical of Leonidas and he had expected nothing less; it was laughable really that not a single member of the council had yet considered implementing any such policies.<p>

'_Then again,'_ he thought, observing the marble columns supporting the great building, '_It is as though I built this with my own hands. I own this chamber and soon I will have my way with all of Sparta.' _It was all he could do to stop himself laughing aloud; he would have his revenge on Leonidas. If only in death, he would have his revenge.

He cast his eye once more over the scrawled words before rolling the scroll back up and slipping it up his sleeve. It was done in the nick of time too, for at that moment the Queen emerged, concluding the circuit of one of her many solitary walks.

"Theron." She acknowledged his unwelcome presence with no attempt to conceal the bitterness in her voice.

He thrived in her contempt for him; it meant that he continued to preside over her in some way.

"My Queen," he smirked sarcastically, "Did you find the walk refreshing?"

The Queen relented in her silent pacing of the chamber and faced the councilman with a decidedly cold expression.

"I did. And how about you?" she fixated her gaze on him, "Has your time in forced isolation given you time enough to contemplate moral values?"

He gave a small laugh but his eyes flashed with formidable signs of anger.

"Time for contemplation is always valued, though I am at a loss to understand exactly which morals my Queen would have me ponder?" He knew he had frustrated her, for her body went rigid as she attempted to control herself.

"How about loyalty to your King? What about humility, respect and considering what is dutifully right despite prior legal ramifications?" she marched towards him as she spoke, each stride contributing to her stand of defiance.

"My King was nothing but a tyrant who promoted anarchy and war. Ironic, is it not, how these were the very things which caused his death? Sparta will be better without his 'helping hand'."

The Queen lunged at him, her hand raised with the firm intention of slapping him, but Theron dodged her palm and beat her in the race to the exit of the chamber.

"You should be careful, Your Majesty," he snarled, "some would relish the chance of reporting such un-Queen-like behaviour."

With one final smile he turned and strolled through the streets into which merchants were filtering with the prospect of another successful market day. The Queen was left at the top of the strong marble steps, her chin raised and her body trembling in silent anger.

* * *

><p>Their breathing came in sharp, short rasps. They crawled, their muscular torsos brushing the limited vegetation springing from the ground beneath them. Desert terrain turned to rock as they neared the edge of the lip of the raised earth that concealed them. Stelios' dusty locks emerged, followed by his blue eyes which drunk up the sight below.<p>

A group of Persian scouts were gathered around what appeared to be a map on the ground. There could never be an opportunity more perfect than this. There were, at a glance, around ten of them. He judged their positioning in relation to the earth's formation surrounding them. If Astinos and himself kept low then the shrubbery could hide them until the point of attack. With their backs turned and swords undrawn it would be simple enough to kill them all. He turned to his friend who was beaming at him; he had formulated such a plan himself and had already unsheathed his weapon. Stelios mischievously winked at his friend as he smiled himself and drew his sword from its leather casing.

They slithered slowly through the undergrowth, the eyes fixed, unmoving, on their Persian rivals who were communicating in a foreign tongue which neither Stelios nor Astinos could interpret. They therefore judged by their lack of response that they had remained unnoticed. They held their breath, their swords were raised, their hands clenched and they did not move. Then, without warning or signal, they sprung from their hiding place with cries of such ferocity it spooked the Persians above any sound they had heard before. Before they had a chance to fully engage with what was happening, three of them had been cut down by the steel of Spartan blades. The remaining Persians drew their swords which clashed against the vicious warriors'. Stelios and Astinos fought back to back, protecting each other from the circling vultures as they killed them. Their thrusts were weak and their observation poor; it took the Spartans five minutes before all ten of them were strewn across the ground, their blood busily being absorbed by the soil. Satisfied with what had turned out to be relatively easy work, the Spartans stood over their prey and grinned. It had begun.

* * *

><p>The moon was their guide as they slipped noiselessly through the shadows, the tents surrounding them as black as the soles which now slept in them. It had taken hours for the remaining flickering fires to be doused, but now all was silent and they could pass through the valley unnoticed. Astinos' eyes flickered obscenely from left to right, his fist clenched and his upper lip glistening slightly with sweat. He was angry. He knew that Stelios' logic had been right; they couldn't possibly take on a band of 'Immortals' with only two of them. Though the Spartan army had defeated them, what felt like years ago and yet only a few miles away, there had been many warriors to support one another. Stelios had had more experience of warfare than he himself and so he supposed he must listen to him, as he had said;<p>

"Sparta doesn't need another suicide mission. If we don't reach Arcadia then there is no war and Xerses stands ruler of all Greece, victorious."

So they had agreed to pass through without bloodshed. Astinos longed to steal into their tents while they slept and stab them where their hearts should be, but he knew that this did not correspond with Sparta's unspoken laws; they were not murderers, they were warriors and there was a stark contrast between the two. Besides, there would be plenty of time for killing in the battle that was to come. He snuck past the sticks from the bracken which continued to puff black smoke into the sky, polluting the clean air of their sacred country.

A wind chilled the ankles of the Spartans, lifting their capes slightly as they neared the edge of the contingent. Astinos saw Stelios dive suddenly behind one of the tents and followed suit opposite him. Peering from his hiding place, he observed two Persian men, with their backs to them, guarding the most valued soldiers Xerses had to offer. Astinos had heard rumours of the 'Immortals', including claims that they gnawed on human flesh and his first inclination was that he should leave these Persians to their fate. Then again, they had already proved their name to be false so it was possible that this rumour was likewise. He drew his sword and Stelios copied him. Stealthily they crept up behind them.

"Boo," Astinos whispered in the man's ear.

He whirled around, but before he could react his throat felt the cold contact of Astinos' blade as it was neatly slit. Astinos thought there something strangely beautiful about the colour already abandoning the Persian's body as it lay in contrast to the dark rocks.

Stelios gestured at his friend and they sprinted from the scene. It felt wrong; running felt wrong. It felt like they had committed some crime of sorts. They could only console themselves with the thought that soon they would reach Arcadia and then they would have Captain Daxos on their side; a witness to prove their innocence and an army with which they could fight.


End file.
